A Good Man
by Alchemist Experiment
Summary: Rose never knew quite what to say in her letters to Winry. Even now, with so much to say, she found herself stumbling over the words and not sure how to explain the twist her life had taken. ArmstrongxRose


_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, I am making no money off of this._

A Good Man

The blank page stared up at Rose, almost accusingly. Outside, the sounds of construction could be heard in the streets of Lior. At first all of the noise had given her something of a headache, but now it was familiar and comforting. After all, her home was being rebuilt.

She had promised to write to Winry often. The Amestrian girl had been so emphatic about it. And every few weeks there was a new letter from Risembool, filled with bits of news and anecdotes and a passage or two on mechanical things that Rose didn't entirely understand. But it was nice.

She never knew what to write. Hesitantly, she began her letter.

_Dear Winry,_

The reconstruction of Lior is going well. It shouldn't be much longer until it's finished. It will be nice when things are quiet again.

That seemed a good start. Winry would want to know about that, wouldn't she? Rose sighed and sucked at her bottom lip, trying to think of something else to write.

_Major Armstrong is doing well. He is very good with the children and always takes time to play with them._

And here Rose paused, frowning slightly. Her pen hovered over the paper and she let out a small sigh. There was much more to say in this vein, but Rose found herself reluctant to put it down on paper. Certainly she knew that people _talked_, but talking was one thing. Admitting to it herself, telling someone she considered a friend, that was different.

What would Winry think of her? And Rose set down her pen and glared internally at the thought, because she already knew the answer. Winry wouldn't think anything. She wasn't honestly worried about what Winry would think, but what she _herself_ thought. And she knew it shouldn't be this way, and she knew she was being foolish, but there was that part of her that wouldn't let go.

It had all started so innocently. Alex - Major Armstrong, she firmly corrected herself - _was_ so good with the children. He'd watch them, sometimes, after he was done working. And Cain adored him. It was only natural that they'd stop and talk at the end of the day, when Rose collected her son. And he was polite and friendly and was doing so much for Lior! Rose liked him.

Then he'd started stopping by. The first time, he brought groceries. Rose hadn't been certain what to think when she found his massive form in her doorway, burdened down with brown paper bags.

He'd been in the neighborhood, he'd said. His ice chest was broken, was the excuse he'd offered for why he was bringing her bags full of meats and cheeses. From anyone else, she would have thought it charity. _Charity_ she was used to. There were too many people who remembered her as the Holy Mother, or as little Rose who'd lost her fiancé all those years ago, or as… as the girl who'd had that _trouble_ with those soldiers and was so young to be a mother…

Rose wanted to slap them all. She didn't need their pity or their help. She was doing quite fine on her own, and she loved her son and she had long since buried her fiancé. And what did they know? They didn't have the slightest idea what she had gone through, and they wouldn't because there were some things that no one else needed to know.

But Alex - Major Armstrong! - didn't come with pity or charity. He was kind to her simply because he was a kind man, and he certainly seemed to dote on Cain. And he never wore his uniform. Rose didn't even think of him as a soldier, even though she mentally added on his rank in her mind.

She picked up her pen once more, continuing her letter. There was no reason _not_ to tell Winry, after all.

_He comes by for dinner often, and he's a very nice man and Cain likes him very much. He cooks very well, and he says it's a secret technique passed down by his family for generations. But it seems like everything he does is a secret passed down by his family for generations. He is certainly a 'man of many talents' as they say._

Rose almost scratched out the passage she'd written. Her letters always sounded so stiff and formal! Winry's letters were casual and full of emotion and sounded just like the way she talked. Rose had never quite mastered that. And there was so much she wanted to say! She was stronger now, she thought. She felt a little bit like a sword, that had started so soft and shiny and unremarkable, but had been beaten and hammered until it grew tough and sturdy. But how could she put that into words? Two years ago, she wouldn't have been able to even _look_ at a soldier, even out of uniform, without growing angry and hot. And now...

It was getting late. Cain sat on the floor, finger painting and laughing and talking to himself. Rose glanced at the clock. He'd be coming by soon. He was very punctual, and Rose was able to set her clocks by his arrival. Six o'clock, on the dot. He was planning on fixing veal tonight, ordered specially from Central. It was a delicacy, he'd said, his sister's favorite. Rose had to try it.

Tomorrow there'd be talk, as there always was. People liked to gossip, soldiers and Lior-folk alike. And what better gossip was there than a well known Amestrian soldier (and alchemist!) courting _Rose_? Because, no matter what spin she put on it, that was what it was. And she didn't mind. She'd had a fairy tale romance with Cain, her son's namesake, and she had pined and longed for Ed, but she wasn't a girl anymore. Fairy tales and pining weren't how the world worked. There was no one love of anyone's life, and love at first sight was a silly story, and once you got to a certain point bravery and dashing and all of that didn't matter anymore. Stability and kindness and being good with children did. Of course, Rose was well aware that Alex also had the bravery and the dashing and the heroic feats, but those were second fiddle to the fact that he could cook and make Cain laugh and knew how to do dishes.

He'd brought flowers last time. They were still sitting in a vase on the kitchen table. Dinners and flowers and long evenings listening to the radio and playing with Cain…

And he never asked questions. He never asked 'what happened, when you were missing all that time?' or 'you were in a right state when you stumbled into Central with the young Elric, what was that all about?'. He never asked anything. He talked about his family and he talked about Central and he told her about the one time he'd seen the ocean, and she talked about Lior before all the trouble started and her own family. And it was nice. And even when he'd been called back to Central, he'd come back. He didn't have to, but he had. And he'd apologized. Something horrible had happened and he'd gone to defend his home and he _apologized_.

He was a good man.

_And I'm sorry I have to cut this letter short, but it's getting close to dinner time. Here is a picture Cain painted. I hope you're well, and maybe I will get a chance to visit you soon. Give my love to your grandmother and Mr Curtis._

And her letters were always short. But it was alright, Winry never seemed to mind. Rose folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, adding one of Cain's blobby paintings to it. At first she had chosen one that _didn't_ include a rather towering stick figure with a blond curl, but after much thought she changed her mind. There was nothing to be ashamed of. She sealed the envelope just as there was a knock at the door. Cain, who had a very good sense of time and routine, flung himself towards the door excitedly.

Alex was a good man. She liked him. Even if he was an alchemist and a soldier, she _liked_ him. And he liked her, and people could talk all they _damn_ well wanted. She was moving forward. She was standing on her own two legs, but that didn't mean she had to stand alone.


End file.
